


It's a Small, Small World

by bellatemple



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-26
Updated: 2009-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatemple/pseuds/bellatemple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over.  Sam and Dean haven't just won, they've survived.  What are they gonna do next?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Small, Small World

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://shakespearebint.livejournal.com/profile)[**shakespearebint**](http://shakespearebint.livejournal.com/), who bought me in Sweet Charity and has been ridiculously patient with me, my demands for prompts, and my little battle with writer's block, and offered up the line 'I still don't understand why we have to wear these damn costumes' for inspiration. Hope this makes ya smile.

"I still don't understand why we have to wear these damn costumes," Sam muttered. His nose was itching. It was itching with an itchy fierceness known only to those whose noses itched and couldn't be scratched. Even if he could have gotten to his nose underneath the bulky, heavy, stinking mask he was wearing, the fat fingers of his white gloves would be absolutely useless at conquering the persistent, horrible, niggling itch of his nose.

"We've been over this, Sammy." A slim-fingered white hand slid into Sam's limited field of vision, followed swiftly by his brother's trademark smirk. "A) we're both still officially dead."

"You're not even wearing a --"

The finger waggled and Dean continued over what Sam was sure, judging by the echoes in the stupid mask, was his muffled protest. "B) these suckers are our free passes into the underground tunnels and 'backstage' areas."

"Dude, come on, it would have taken, like, ten minutes to mock up a couple of --"

The finger waggled again. "And last and most importantly, C) I absolutely could not pass up the opportunity to see you try to walk around in those shoes."

Sam's shoulders slumped. Further. Slumped further because dammit, this mask really was seriously heavy and who thought that limiting a costume to only _25%_ of a person's body weight was a reasonable idea? 25% of Sam's body weight was still a considerable amount. And he was pretty sure the mask was the majority of it. "I still don't see why you get to be Prince Charming and I'm stuck wearing a giant dog head."

"Type casting, Sammy." Dean's smirk went full-on shit-eating grin as he admired his white gloves and flicked imaginary dirt off his beige jacket. "Besides, Goofy was the only costume that would fit you. Now come on." He struck what he must have thought was a heroic pose. "We've got a princess to save."

He looked like a douche-bag. "You look like a douche-bag."

"Language, Sam. There's soon to be children around."

There were times when Sam Winchester really, truly regretted not getting offed in the battle to save the world.

* * *

"Sam and Dean Winchester," Castiel said with great solemnity -- not that he ever spoke in any other sort of tone, really. "You've won. Lilith is dead, Lucifer remains in Perdition, and the world is safe." He tilted his head in mild curiosity, a look at complete odds with his ragged trench coat and missing left eyebrow. "What shall you do now?"

Sam glanced over at his brother, who looked back, forehead bleeding from that same damned head wound that seemed to reopen after every major battle they had, the one that streaked from his hairline over his right eyebrow to the top of his nose and made him look like a pscyho son of a bitch who could rip you in half, if it weren't for the small, enigmatic, five-year-old-boy smile curling his lips. Sam couldn't help but smile back. He knew exactly what his brother was thinking.

"The Grand Canyo--"

"We're going to Disney World!"

"Wait, what?"

* * *

"This isn't even Disney World."

"Epcot isn't the Magic Kingdom, but it's still Disney World."

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

* * *

Over the years, Sam had dreamed many times of visiting one of the many Disney theme parks. It was a dream shared by almost every member of his generation, hardwired into the consciousness of the American youth by savvy advertising and he'd eventually cast them off, figuring his life was going in a different, darker, more important direction.

The dreams had taken many shapes, from John Winchester going insane and deciding to give his children the American dream in Orlando to taking his children to Disneyland with Jess. Never, in any of them, did he imagine this, attempting to hunt a possible _kitsune_ in Epcot's Japan pavilion while dressed as a giant cartoon dog.

"There aren't any Disney princesses in the Japan pavilion, Dean."

"Dude, that's so racist. Mulan totally counts as a princess."

"Mulan is _Chinese_. And it is not racist. She was a soldier, not a princess."

"Close enough."

"Close e --" Sam cut himself of with a grunted huff as Dean lead the way out of the employee's only staging area and into the park proper and the two of them were immediately swamped by the park's "guests". The costumed cast members were supposed to be silent, right? That'd explain why his mask didn't seem to have any sort of speaking grill. But if Dean thought he'd heard the last out of his younger brother on this topic, he was so _very_ wrong.

A seven year old girl, her hair in pigtails under the obligatory mouse ears, bounced up to Dean and stood, toe digging into the pink pavement, chin turned down, eyes peering up shyly through blond fringe. "Excuse me," she said, then seemed to gather her nerve and stuck out her chin, looking straight up into Dean's smiling face. "Are you Prince Charming?"

Dean dropped into a graceful kneel, probably scuffing up the god-awful maroon pants of his costume. "At your service, milady."

Sam rolled his eyes, safe to react however he wanted to under his enormous mask, and mouthed "milady?"

He was starting to wish he could tape this. It could, in retrospect, be good for _years_ of ammunition.

The little girl cast a quick glance over her shoulder to a group of giggling children in Hannah Montana t-shirts, then leaned in closer to Dean. "From _Cinderella_?"

Dean nodded, still smiling, and shot a wink at the group of giggling fans. "That's right."

The girl cocked her head. "And _Snow White_?"

"Yep."

"And _Sleeping Beauty_?"

Dean's smile didn't falter, but Sam thought he noticed it tensing slightly. He held his breath. "Uh. Yeah?"

The girl nodded, cast one last glance back at her friends, then yelled "You're a polygamous man-whore!" and kicked Dean in the shin before scurrying off. Dean grabbed at his leg, biting down his lip and letting out a string of broken off curses, earning glares from the surrounding parents and gasps from their children. The girls in the Hannah Montana shirts shrieked in joy and congratulated their friend. Dean cast a helpless, pleading look at Sam, but to no avail.

Goofy, it seemed, was too busy being doubled over in great, whooping, muffled guffaws to come to Prince Charming's aid.

* * *

"Where the hell did she learn language like that?!"

"Dean, calm down."

"Children of today! No respect! It's all the television. And video games! Hannah Montana is rotting their brains!"

"Dean."

"Prince Charming is a hero! He deserves their respect!"

"Dean, _shut up._ The Moroccans are staring."

Indeed, a cast member dressed as Aladdin was giving the brothers the stink eye, and a security guard in a fez was resting a contemplating hand on his night-stick. Dean snapped his mouth shut and offered the two of them a friendly wave.

"Heh, kids today, right?"

Aladdin continued to glare. Sam wrapped a puffy-gloved hand around Dean's bicep and dragged him away.

"Come on, we're almost there. Japan is the next pavilion over."

"We shoulda gone to the Grand Canyon."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you."

* * *

Goofy was accosted four more times for character meet and greet sessions before they'd even made it within 20 feet of the Japan section of the park. Sam had to wonder how many guests' pictures of their time with Goofy were going to come out with Prince Charming in the background, giving them bunny-ears.

Really, none of this would have happened if they'd just gone with faked tickets.

Just as they were reaching the first pagoda, a seventy year old woman slipped up behind Sam with a "Hey there, handsome" and a smack on his well padded Goofy-ass.

The poor girl in the Disney princess tiara never did figure out why Prince Charming was giggling the entire time she was getting her picture taken.

* * *

"Man, that's just creepy."

Sam turned to look at what Dean was talking about, a process that required turning his entire body thanks to the cumbersome mask. "You mean the Sanrio characters, or the Totoro?"

"The bunny thing!"

Ah. The totoro. "It's a representation of an ancient Japanese spirit of the forest."

"It's a bunny thing."

"Are we here to hunt, or are we here to make culturally ignorant comments about the merchandise?"

Dean huffed and turned away from the souvenir display. He put his white-gloved hands on his beige jacket covered hips and looked around.

"You know how many people have died in Disney parks since they opened, Sam?"

Sam groaned. "What does that have to do with the --"

"A lot. A whole lot. Lots and lots of heart attacks and strokes and shi -- cra -- uh. Stuff. One would almost think it's cursed."

"And how do you know all this?"

"Dude, I do my research."

"For the last time, Dean, wikipedia is not a credible source of --"

"You know, you keep talking with that mask on, but all I hear is blah, blah, blah -- why is the donkey staring at us?"

Sam turned his head automatically and found himself staring at the dark inside of his mask. He twisted at the hips instead, trying to scan the crowd. Sure enough, an Eeyore was making a beeline for them, one fluffy blue hand propped on the stuffed belly of the costume, the other gesturing emphatically in what it surely must have thought was a meaningful way.

"I have no idea."

Dean glanced around, then hurried over. "Hey, man, sorry, but we're on our break --"

The Eeyore smacked him upside the head. Sam hustled over as fast as his oversized Goofy boots could carry him to defend his brother's honor. He made it just in time to hear a very muffled "idjit" from the Eeyore.

"Bobby?"

"You boys think you're gonna take on a _kitsune_ in an amusement park without my backup, you got another think coming." The Eeyore spun on one soft, bootie like foot and started leading the way towards the back of the Japan pavilion. Dean glanced at Sam. Sam stared back. Dean turned away with the smirk that had been reappearing over and over, probably when the amusement of hunting with a giant cartoon dog came rushing back.

"Dude," Dean said, leaning in towards Sam with a meaningful eyebrow waggle and almost clocking himself silly on one of Sam's mask's teeth. "Now I can't stop picturing Eeyore in a trucker cap."

Sam snorted and swatted Dean upside the head.

"Hey! That's prince abuse!"

"Shut up, ya idjit."

Sam finally understood why Bobby had come to prefer that lovely colloquial mispronunciation in reference to Dean. It _was_ rather theraputic, wasn't it.

* * *

Sam had to give Bobby credit. Even after following after the man through the crowds of the Japan pavilion's main thoroughfare for an hour while they tracked down the elusive fox spirit -- and paused for photo opportunity after photo opportunity -- Sam never would have guessed that the Eeyore costume's brightly colored tail actually concealed a blessed dagger. It was Dean who'd figured out how to corner the _kitsune_ in the ladies room of the Teppan Edo restaurant, though, and Sam's quick thinking of taking off his Goofy glove to throw the dagger at the hissing spirit that won the day, though.

Sam was pretty sure it'd take him a life time to get the disturbing image of the Japanese geisha with a fox tail lying dead on the floor of the bathroom with a pink-bow-and-black-fluff hilted dagger sticking out of the back of her neck out of his mind, though.

Dean staggered out of the now busted-open stall, his eyes blood shot and watering, and his gold epaulets stained a sickly green, wiping desperately at his face. "Is it over?"

"It's over," Bobby said in a perfect Eeyore monotone. "The hell is the matter with you?"

Dean swiped at his face again, tears streaming down his cheeks as he desperately blew his nose into his no-longer-pristine white gloves. "I think I have wasabi up my _nose_."

Sam and Bobby exchanged glances, their respective costumes both also streaked with the green paste. Their masks had easily protected them from the deadly wasabi attack. "That's what you get for deciding you just _had_ had to be Prince Charming."

"Shut up." It was probably supposed to be threatening. It came out as more of a wail as Dean pawed at his face. "Oh god, it's in my _sinuses_."

"Right, boys," Bobby said, bending awkwardly down to pull the dagger from the _kitsune_ 's bloodied form. Dean snorted wetly, then started into a painful sounding cough that ended with him spitting bright green into a nearby sink. "Now's the hard part." He looked up, Eeyore's sad eyes peering into Goofy's permanently surprised ones. "We gotta figure out how to salt and burn this sucker and get out of here without traumatizing the kiddies."

Dean whimpered and coughed up another glob of wasabi. "I hate Disney World."

* * *

"Stop it."

Sam paused in his muted humming and turned his head -- and man, he was never taking the flexibility of his neck for granted again -- to peer innocently at his brother. "Stop what?"

" _Humming._ We never even made it within a hundred feet of that ride, so you've got no right to be humming ---"

"Iiiiit's a small world aaaaafter all," Sam sang cheerfully.

Dean let out a quiet wail. "For the love of -- Sammy, _please_!"

Sam let it go with a smirk and a raised hand. "Okay, okay. Truce?"

Dean relaxed slightly. "Truce." He glanced away from the road and grimaced. "Uh, sorry about the Goofy thing."

"No you're not."

"Okay, no. I'm not."

They rode along in silence for another couple of miles before Sam started to hum again. When it garnered no reaction from his brother, he started to sing.

"Some day, my prince will come. . . ."

Dean stomped on the brakes. "That's it, out of the car!"

"What?"

"Out! Now! You're banished from my baby's hallowed seats!"

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry, no more Disney songs."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Dean relaxed slightly in the seat. "Okay." He hit the accelerator again.

Another couple miles went by.

". . . So, you think Bobby's ever gonna take those ears off?"

"God, I hope not."

The car echoed with laughter as the brothers, secure in the knowledge that they had yet another hunt under their belt, that the world was safe, and that neither of them was terribly likely to go evil, go to Hell, or be ordered to off the other, rode off into the setting sun, headed for the Grand Canyon.

". . . You know, I hear there's a haunted Chuck E. Cheese in Des Moines. . . ."

"Not a chance in hell."

"Okay, then."

The End


End file.
